


Of Birthday Wine and Other Gifts

by RosieTwiggs



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Birthday, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 20:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3424793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieTwiggs/pseuds/RosieTwiggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver brings Felicity wine for her birthday. Neither of them stay sober.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Birthday Wine and Other Gifts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyChi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyChi/gifts).



> This fic is a birthday gift for my dear friend Chi. It was also inspired by her, and her many drunk messages to me on her birthday, several lines of which are contained herein.  
> Enjoy. ;-)

Oliver knows how much she loves wine.

Sometimes she _hates_ the fact that Oliver knows how much she loves wine.

See, because if Oliver _didn’t_ know how much she loved wine, then he wouldn’t have shown up at her door with a 1957 Reserve bottle of Chateau Lafite, and another bottle of a _very_ nice Malbec from a small unknown winery in the South of France, and then _another_ really, _really_ crisp Italian Gewurtzraminer for desert.

But he does. And he _did_.

And now she’s…

Well she’s _definitely_ not sober.

“You know,” she says, and she knows she’s not sober because she has to work extra hard to make sure her lips move to form the words the way she wants to. They’re feeling kind of numb. “I have no idea what I would get for you for your birthday if you actually ever, you know, let me even try to celebrate with you.”

She scrunches up her nose, and Oliver’s had just as much to drink as she has (okay maybe slightly less) but she has a feeling he’s far less drunk (not sober) than she is, and he’s trying not to smile, but she knows his face, and that is a definite almost smile. He’s laughing at her. Fine.

“You know all my weaknesses, and I don’t know any of yours.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Oliver responds, voice low. He looks more relaxed than she generally gets to see him, sitting back in her armchair, legs up on the coffee table, and a half finished glass of red in his hand.

She sits up straighter and tucks her legs beneath her on the sofa.

“Really?” She scoffs, though it comes out more like a raspberry, and she _knows_ he’s not taking her seriously. “Like what?”

Oliver arches an eyebrow at her. “Like the small fact that you know who the Arrow really is? Seems like a pretty big weakness.”

Felicity rolls her eyes. “Please. You know that’s not the kind of weaknesses I’m talking about.

“Do you like chocolate? Strawberries? What’s your favorite kind of movie? I know you like wine, but is it, like, the same kind of “like” the way _I_ like it, or do you just drink it because it’s there? Because let me tell you, if that’s the case, wow, we need to have a _talk_ , but-”

Oliver laughs. “Felicity are you planning my birthday or a date?”

Felicity snorts. “If this were a date I feel like there’d be more nudity.”

Oliver pulls his feet off of the coffee table and puts his glass down.

“Oh, really?”

Warning bells are very lightly tinkling in Felicity’s head.

Very lightly.

Almost non-existent, muffled warning bells are being ignored in Felicity’s head.

“Well, I mean, nudity is kind of a given considering there would hopefully be sex.”

And Oliver has _got_ to be less sober than she thought because he doesn’t make an excuse to leave and run for the door. Instead, a slow smile spreads across his face as he scoots to the edge of the armchair, elbows on his knees and his hands propped under his chin.

“Hopefully?”

For a second, Felicity is fairly sure she’s finally gotten to see a glimpse of what Oliver was like with women back before the island, back when he and Tommy could get a girl to drop her panties in 0.2 seconds. Because that grin is making her think all sorts of panty-dropping thoughts.

She swallows. The heat in her cheeks is about 83% wine induced. The other 17% is what makes her say:

“Well, think of the date as a salad, right? So, like, mmmmmaybe a few croutons of sex? Like, maybe a light balsamic vinaigrette of sex? You know?” And where the hell did the salad metaphor come from, she has no idea, but she’s going with it.

Oliver loses it, he falls back in his chair, laughing so hard that Felicity can see tears.

She huffs, falling back onto the sofa. “All I’m saying,” she says, dragging it out the words, “is that at least I should get to, I don’t know, get a _peek_ or something. It’s my birthday after all.”

Oliver wipes below his eyes, shaking his head. “Felicity,” oh god his voice is all breathy and he should always sound like that, wow. “Are you _actually_ asking me to flash you for your birthday?”

And oooohhhh, she really shouldn’t have had so much wine.

“I’m going to be honest here with you Oliver. If I… _casually_ saw your,” she gestures vaguely at him, “ _stuff_ out of the corner of my eye, it wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

“Wow, thanks.”

Felicity shakes her head. “You _know_ what I mean.”

Oliver tilts his head, lower lip pulled in between his teeth, and then slowly, very slowly, he leans all the way back in his chair, and lifts his hips off of the seat, eyes never leaving hers.

Felicity’s mouth goes dry, and suddenly, everything comes into much sharper focus than it was before.

Oliver’s hands flick open the button of his pants before sliding down the tops of his thighs. He brings one hand up, bunching the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it just enough to give Felicity a glimpse of skin, and then slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulls his zipper down.

She’s gaping, she knows she’s gaping, but holy God above, Oliver Queen is sexily undoing his pants for her in her living room after she metaphored at him about sex and salad, and she - ?

Just as things are about to get interesting though, Oliver’s hands - stop.

“What, why-?”

Oliver lowers his hips back down and Felicity looks up at him, wide-eyed. And he’s _smirking_.

He. Is. Smirking.

“You know, this doesn’t really seem fair.”

His pants are hanging open. She agrees. It’s not fair. He stopped and it’s _not fair_.

“Why should I be the only one who has to take clothes off?”

“Because we just agreed that it was your birthday present to me?”

“I thought we were planning _my_ birthday, actually. You _did_ say you wanted to get me a present.”

In her not sober (fuck it, _drunken_ ) haze, this gives Felicity pause.

For about one second.

The next one, she’s pulled her shirt up and over her head.

From the look on Oliver’s face, he hadn’t actually expected her to do that.

“Oh,” he says, eyes going wide.

It’s actually funny how quickly it escalates from there.

Oliver’s up and off his seat in record time, pulling his jeans the whole way down, and Felicity’s scrambling to get her bra off, which is much harder when you’ve had at least a bottle and a half of wine, but probably more. Oliver moves for her, but ends up stumbling on the coffee table and crashing into Felicity instead, and the both of them end up in a pile on the sofa.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asks.

“Yeah, fine. I’m fine.”

She’s more than fine. _God_ , she loves wine.

Oliver gives her a questioning look when she bursts into giggles at her own rhyme, but is distracted, apparently, a moment later by her breasts.

He draws a nipple into his mouth and Felicity arches her back, lifting her hands above her head to push against the armrest.

“Oliver, take off the rest of your clothes, please.”

He releases her nipple with a little, wet ‘pop’, and grins up at her. His smile is _made of sex_ , oh God, she’s so wet right now.

“Fine, but only because it’s your birthday.”

Felicity ends up getting a _lot_ more than a casual glance at Oliver’s ‘stuff’ out of the corner of her eye.

They make it a birthday tradition. For _both_ of their birthdays.

And every other day of the year too.

 


End file.
